


Alone At the End of the Day.

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Aging, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Car Accidents, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a car accident leaves Valjean in a coma, Javert is left to ponder the possibility of a future without him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone At the End of the Day.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: 
> 
> Pairing(s)/Character(s): Javert/Valjean  
> Era/verse: Modern AU  
> Prompt: [possible trigger] Car crash. You can take it from any perspective and any situation, I'm open to anything.  
> Special Request(s) (optional):  
> Things you don't want (Squicks): Character death.  
> Maximum Rating: R  
> Anything else (optional):

“The coffee in the machine is terrible.”

Javert doesn’t know why he says it. It’s not important. He’s had worse coffee. Stale cups on stakeouts and leftover sludge from the bottom of the pot when he’s working late on a case. At least the cup is warm. He cradles it gratefully in his hands.

“You wouldn’t drink it. But you know me.”

He’s not a coffee snob, unlike some people.

“So that’s an example of how bad it is.” He says and takes a sip.

The man in the bed doesn’t answer him.

Javert leans back in his seat. He’s been here for nearly sixteen hours and all he can think of is coffee.

“You remember that place, the one with the little sweet cakes? That place had good coffee.” His voice falters as he remembers the way Valjean had looked at him that day, and calmly, lovingly told him to stop hogging all the cake.

Javert sets the cup aside and pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

*  *  *

It was an accident. A simple, stupid accident. One of those things that just happens and you hear about it on the news. The kind of accident that you feel bad about for a few minutes, but it didn’t happen to you, so you move on.

They had been heading home after Valjean had picked him up from the precinct. All Javert had wanted to do was go home and shower before falling into bed. Valjean had been telling him about a school group who had come to the gardens that day. Javert hadn’t even been listening that closely, drifting in and out to the sound of Valjean’s voice as the rain splintered down against the windshield.

Naturally it had been raining when the car went through the stoplight and smashed into them.

Javert remembers nothing else of the accident. Only that he woke up with a headache, and a sore back, and a partner who’s in a coma.

*  *  *

That’s where they are now. Uncertain of whether Valjean will wake up again. The doctor told Javert that the next few days, “will be very telling.” Phrases like that are tiresome, in Javert’s opinion. Same goes for ‘We’ll know more after a few hours,” and “Only time will tell.”

The waiting is endless. Minute after minute crawls by, slipping somehow into exhausting hours. Twenty-eight hours and Valjean still hasn’t woken up.

Time will tell. Times goes on. Time after time. So much time, and all of it just comes down to waiting.

*  *  *

Javert steps out into the hallway to toss the his cold cup of coffee and get a new one. It’s something to do. Anything. At some point he’ll have to go home to shower and change. But for right now, he can’t bring himself to leave Valjean’s side.

“Monsieur Javert?” A nurse comes up to him.

“It’s inspector, actually.” Javert corrects her out of habit.

“I see.” The nurse nods. “Well then, inspector, about your husband’s condition.”

“He’s not my husband,” Javert’s tone is a little too sharp for the hallway.

The nurse frowns at her chart, “I was under the impression-”

“We’re not…” Javert sighs. “We’re partners, but it’s not legalized.” He already went through this earlier. Why is this happening again?

All it does is just bring up another painful memory of a messy fight. The time Valjean had tried to propose and Javert had simply turned him down flat.

“I don’t want to get married. I like things the way they are.” Why wasn’t that enough for Valjean?

“And I want to be able to point at you a party and say ‘Yeah, that’s my husband.’ Valjean says obstinately.

“You can’t do that. I don’t do parties.”

“That sullen looking man in the corner, yes, I married him.”

“No parties.”

“I promise to only make you attend parties on special occasions if you marry me.”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?” Valjean says at last, exasperated beyond measure.

It’s so rare for Valjean to swear, Javert looks at him in surprise.

“Things are good the way they are.” It’s enough for him. Why isn’t it enough for Valjean? They come home to each other, they go to bed together, they wake up together. What is the _more_ that Valjean’s pursuing here?

“Yeah, but they could be better.” Valjean counters.

“How is bothering to fill out a form making it better?”

“You like filling out forms, you’d think this would be your idea.”

“I do not like filling out forms,” Javert just sighs. “Just because one takes pride in doing one’s job correctly doesn’t mean I want to fill out forms for amusement.”

He’d gone for a walk that evening, and when he came home, Valjean had already gone to bed. When Javert had gotten into bed beside him, and tentatively slipped his arms around him Valjean hadn’t objected though.

They’d not spoken of the matter again.

Now thought the nurse is just looking at him, a pitying, slightly confused look on her face.

“What is it?” Javert asks brusquely.

“Nothing, sir. Only that the doctor wanted you to look over these forms, but if you’re not Monsieur Valjean’s husband…”

Javert simply takes the forms from her and she scurries off.

He returns to his place by the bed before starting to go through the file. “They want to know what to do if you don’t wake up.” He murmurs.

Even if he was Valjean’s husband, (the word leaves a funny taste in his mouth) he still wouldn’t know what to do in a situation like this. None of these options are acceptable. Javert puts the forms aside and just sits, listening to the beep of the monitor.

Valjean looks so still. His face which is usually so creased with laughter, is unusually solemn here in this unbearable silence.

Javert looks away.

*  *  *

Javert takes a brief break from sitting to go to the bathroom. He cups his hands full of cool water, bringing it up to splash against his face. The man in the mirror looks even tired than he feels.

Nothing’s changed when he goes back. The machine that Valjean’s hooked up to just keeps beeping quietly. At least it’s a steady rhythm.  Javert settles back into his seat with a sigh.

“Funny,” he murmurs. “I always thought it would be you who’d wind up visiting me in the hospital.” Of course that was before he had taken a desk job. Even now he resents that. It’s the most sensible thing, but it makes him feel old.

“You _are_ getting old.” He can hear Valjean say as surely as though he were awake.

Javert sighs under his breath. Selfishly, he’d have preferred it the other way around. He’s no good in times like this. Valjean would have the nurses bringing him coffee and commiserating with him over his grief. Instead of Javert, just sitting here with another cup of cold coffee, rambling away.

What’s he supposed to say to Valjean now?

He clears his throat, drumming his fingers against his thigh.

“I suppose I should go home. Just to…”

What’s the point? Why is he even talking?

Javert leaves, but not before brushing his lips over Valjean’s forehead. It’s warm, but barely.

*  *  *

Javert hurries out the hospital doors before remembering there’s no car. For a moment he considers walking, but it’s miles, and he _is_ getting old, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. He hails a taxi and sits silently in the back seat as the driver listens to a game on the radio.

*  *  *

The apartment seems to exhale softly when Javert walks through the door. There is no one else here, only silence.

He showers, the heat a welcome relief after the chill of the hospital ward. The cold is another part of age. He didn’t used to be so cold all the time.

Once he’s finally warm enough, Javert dresses before turning to the next part. He has to find his reading glasses before he can make the call.

The force understands. He’s important these days, but not vital. The entire police force won’t collapse if he’s not at his desk for a few days. That’s how long he can think ahead. A few days, and then, from there he’ll see.

If Valjean doesn’t wake up in a few days…

Javert’s fingers grip the phone as he hangs up. Realistically, he should think about the future that exists beyond the next few days But he can’t. It’s just not possible.

It took him so long to realize he loved Valjean in the first place. He can’t lose him now.

*  *  *

He tells Valjean that when he takes the chair by the bed again later that evening.

“Just in case you were thinking about dying.” Javert says flatly. Saying it aloud makes it worse, but he swallows down the panic and glares at the comatose figure in the bed, until he can feel the tears stinging at the corners of his eyes.

He brushes at them, and then…what’s the point? There is no one there to watch him, no one to care if he cries. So he sits there, silently weeping, for the possibility that he might lose this man that he has held in his arms, held so close they might as well have been one flesh for all the breath they shared between them.

When he’s done and the tears have dried upon his cheeks, Javert goes to the restroom again. He pisses away the endless coffee, and washes his hands, staring blearily at the man staring back at him.

There’s gray in his hair now. He never would have even noticed, except Valjean had rolled over one morning and smiled at him before pressing a kiss to the side of his hair.

“It looks distinguished.”             

Javert had brushed him off with a grunt.

Now he looks at his hair and sighs.

“It looks _old_.” He murmurs.

*  *  *

That night he sleeps in the chair, neck uncomfortably cricked to one side.

In the morning his back aches from sitting. Javert paces the length of the room twice, working out the kinks in his legs before stopping in front of the window.

“There’s a bird in the tree outside.” He tells Valjean. “He looks bored.”

No comment.

Ruthlessly, Javert continues. “The sky is rather gray today. No clouds. Just an endless street of gray.”

He tells Valjean about the people passing by across the street, the woman with the red hat, and the small fluffy dog who avoids the puddles left by yesterday’s morning rain.

He describes the scene until the morning has passed into early afternoon and his throat is tired. Javert glances at Valjean, and tells him he’s going to get a cup of coffee.

He leaves the hospital to get it this time. For once he needs to.

*  *  *

Javert walks to a café a few blocks from the hospital and orders a coffee, and then, as an afterthought, a sandwich as well. He can’t remember the last time he ate.

Valjean is the one who cooks most of the time. He has a knack for it. He can take anything and make it delicious whereas Javert simply doesn’t care to take the time. Give him toast and a cup of coffee and he’s content.

Now though, he can’t help noticing how good this sandwich tastes. The bread is soft which he appreciates more than he cares to admit. His teeth are also no longer what they used to be. The turkey is spiced just so and the cheese pleasantly sharp on the tongue.

The guilt hits him in his gut when he’s nearly finished. How can he sit there enjoying a sandwich when Valjean might be dying?

Javert wants to push the plate away and walk out. But he’s caught between the urge to do that, and what he would say to Valjean if the situation were reversed. _Don’t be a fool. You need to keep your energy up. Finish the damn sandwich._

So he does, even if the last few bites stick in his throat and he has to work hard to swallow them. When he’s done Javert pays his bill with a sense of pathetic triumph and buys another coffee before walking back to the hospital.

  *  *  *

“I need to see him. Which room?”

Javert looks up at the sound of voices in the hallway. The young woman turns towards Valjean’s room.

And then Javert remembers what up until now he has managed to utterly forget. Unlike him, Valjean’s not completely alone in the world.

He has a daughter.

Javert nearly turns tail and runs. He’s so close to it, but what would Valjean say to that? He stays put, dreading what’s about to happen.

The nurse directs Cosette and her husband Marius towards the room.

Javert knows their names, knows Cosette’s birthday and that Valjean used to read to her every night before she fell asleep. He knows too that Valjean has only seen his daughter twice in the decade since she’d married.

Cosette looks at him briefly as she enters the room. “Who are you?” Already her attention is turning towards Valjean.

“I was…with your father when the accident occurred,” Javert starts to explain.

He has never thought of what he would say if he should meet Cosette. If such a thing ever dared occur, it would only be at Valjean’s instigation. Not like this. Not standing here in this hospital room with this grief-stricken wide-eyed girl who’s just staring at him in confusion.

“I’m his…” He swallows. There’s no word for what he and Valjean are to each other.

Cosette’s eyes widen as she realizes what he means.

“I’ll leave you alone with your father,” Javert leaves her and her unasked questions, and escapes to the hallway. He walks down to the waiting room with the broad windows.

 _You idiot,_ he tells Valjean _. How could you let this happen?_

*   *   *

Marius follows him down the hall.

“Forgive Cosette,” Marius clasps his hands together with a sigh. “This is all a bit of a shock for her. She hasn’t seen her father for several years.”

“I am aware of that.” Javert murmurs.

The young man flushes profusely. “Of course. Forgive me, I meant no,”

Javert waves off his apology.

At last Marius sighs. “I need to talk to the doctor.” He walks off down the hall, a determined set to his shoulders.

*  *  *

After a little while Javert ventures back to the room. He stands there in the doorway, watching Cosette sit by her father’s side, holding his hand.

“You could have told me.” She whispers, staring at Valjean. “You should have known you could have told me.” There’s a brokenness to her voice that is heavier than any weight Javert has ever carried.

He retreats once more.

*  *  *

“Here.” Marius hands him a warm cup. “Cosette sent me out for coffee. She says the stuff in the machine is foul.”

Javert accepts it gratefully.

For a moment they stand there in silence, drinking their coffee.

“They say,” Marius is tentative as though he’s uncertain what Javert will do in response. “They’re not sure he’s going to wake up.”

Javert nods, hands clasped around the cup as he continues to gaze out the window. “That seems to be the case.”

Marius opens his mouth, and then shuts it again.

There’s a 50/50 chance that Valjean will wake up again. There are better odds. There are worse odds.

He could tell Marius not to worry about being delicate, he’s not going to cry. There are a lot of things he could tell Marius, but he doesn’t.

He doesn’t tell Marius that the first time he and Valjean spent the night together, Javert snuck out the next morning, certain that Valjean would regret the whole thing. Only to have Valjean turn up on his doorstep, asking him when the hell he had turned into such a coward.

He doesn’t tell Marius that it took him almost two years before he told Valjean that he loved him.

That he still can’t sleep some nights unless Valjean is there beside him in bed.

That every year on Cosette’s birthday, Valjean tells him the story of how he adopted her and that it was the happiest moment of his life. (Not that Valjean says that second part aloud. He doesn’t have to. Javert can see it in his eyes.)

That Valjean saves every letter Cosette has written him in the past ten years, keeping them safely in his desk.

*  *  *

He’s not going to say goodbye. He refuses. Let the doctors make their predictions. Maybe they’re right. Maybe Valjean will never wake up. But he’s not going to say goodbye.

That’s what people generally do, he knows.  But that’s not good enough. There is no real preparation for days like these. There are forms to fill out and options to consider, but Javert can’t focus on them. All there is to do is wait and hope.

 So he will not say goodbye to the only man he has ever loved.

*  *  *

Javert stays away from the room as he debates what to do next. Should he leave the hospital? Let them look after Valjean? But he can’t. He has a right, even if it’s not technically legal. He’s not going to desert Valjean now.

Still, he stays away from the room, waiting for something he’s not sure of.

*  *  *

“I knew about you.”

Javert doesn’t realize she’s there until she speaks. _Fine inspector you are_. Cosette’s standing there, her arms wrapped around herself as she gazes out the window. Javert would tell her not to bother. He’s been looking at the view for twenty minutes now and it’s undeniably dull. But he knows she’s not looking for something to look at. She just needs to stand there.

“What?”

“Well, not you specifically,” she clarifies. “but I knew there was _someone_. He sounded happier whenever we’d talk. We argued less.  Sometimes he’d catch himself saying ‘we,’ about something he’d supposedly done by himself.” There’s a faint smile at the corner of her lips.

Javert doesn’t know what to make of this. The decision to keep their relationship private had been a mutual one, but it had been Valjean’s final decision in whether or not to tell his daughter. He’d decided not to.

“That’s the main reason I haven’t been back before,” Cosette murmurs. “If I had thought he was completely alone, nothing could have stopped me from visiting.”

She rubs tiredly at her eyes. “The funny thing is, we were coming back to Paris anyway before this…”

“Oh?”

“Yes, the embassy has posted Marius here.” Cosette looks down at her hands. “So we’re going to be in Paris for at least two years.”

“He’d be pleased.” Javert murmurs. He knows that much. Even if Valjean never admitted how much he missed Cosette, having her in the same city again would have been paradise for him.

*  *  *

Marius slips out to make a phone call. “Everything’s taken care of.” He presses a kiss to Cosette’s hair. “We can stay as long as it’s necessary.”

She squeezes his hand without taking her eyes from Valjean’s still form.

Javert goes out again.

He goes back to the waiting room. It’s always empty. Is there no one else lurking and loitering, trying to visit the people in their lives, while their actual family members are there? Is he the only one caught in this in-between world?

*  *  *

After a few minutes though, Cosette follows him, settling herself in the seat next to his. “How did you two meet?”

Javert glances at her in surprise. There’s no sign of Marius. She’s sitting there with a determined look upon her face, waiting to hear the story. The story Valjean’s always been too ashamed to tell her.

How can Javert tell her that he’s the reason her father hasn’t seen her in years? And yet how can he refuse her now when she asks?

“We first met…” Javert says, tongue working slowly. “When he was in prison.”

Cosette’s eyes widen, and for a brief, painful moment, Javert knows exactly what she’s thinking. What had he done? What crime did he commit? Would it be more or less of a sin to let her believe that was the case instead of trying to explain the complicated truth of the matter?

He sighs. “I worked there as a guard.”

“Oh.” She nods in understanding. “I see. But that was so many years ago. How…” Her smooth young brow is furrowed in confusion.

“How am I here now?” Javert finishes for her. “A good question.” He hesitates. But to have her understand, he must tell her more. “When I first met your father…I didn’t like him.”

To his surprise, Cosette smiles. “I can imagine.”

He looks down at his coffee. “Eventually that opinion changed.”

“How?”

“Over time I came to understand he was…different than what I originally expected. He wasn’t like the other prisoners. Once there was a riot in the prison. In the face of chaos, he restored order. I will never forget that.” Javert leaves it at that. She doesn’t need to hear the rest of that particular story. It had been a bloody day, and one of several reasons that Javert had decided to leave the prison.

“I left the prison shortly after he was released on parole. I went to work for the for the Paris police force,  was promoted to inspector, and then I met him again later when he came in to report a crime that had taken place at the gardens he was working at.” His tongue hesitates at the memory. Seeing Valjean again after so many years. Seeing him had stirred something within Javert. Something he had long since kept hidden.

He had been brusque at the office, but that evening when he left, it was to find Valjean waiting for him, to tell him thank you.

Javert tells him. “You have no need to thank me.” The idea is absurd.

“Then perhaps, we can merely sit together and have a drink.” Valjean says quietly. “You are the first familiar face I’ve seen in years.”

“And you think that’s a good thing?” Javert barks a laugh.

“Yes.” Valjean says. He means it.

Javert is mystified, but he cannot refuse, so he goes with Valjean. They drink, and one drink turns into two, and the hour passed in hesitant conversation is not unpleasant.

That first meeting had led to others, and then an angry kiss had led to a softer one, and an embrace, and the next thing Javert knew, they belonged together. Valjean fills his life so easily, it’s difficult to remember the days before him.

*  *  *

They sit with him together, Cosette on one side of the bed, Javert on the other. Marius brings them coffee, reminds Cosette to eat, touches her shoulder from time to time, a reminder that he’s there if she needs him.

At times though, Javert has to leave the room – just to get away. He walks the wings of the hospital in silence, knowing what he looks like as he paces back and forth.

Other times Cosette’s the one who slips out for a little while. When she comes back her eyes are red, her cheeks paler than usual. Javert wishes he could tell her she doesn’t have to hide her grief, but at the same time he’s uncomfortably grateful for it. He doesn’t know how to comfort her.

 *  *  *

“There’s no point in asking if you remember. You remember everything.” He leans forward, resting his chin on his hands. “That first Valentine’s day. I thought you’d expect something. Even though I was at a loss as to what.” He falls silent, remembering the bouquet of roses he had selected at last, certain they weren’t good enough for a man like Valjean.

And then, there had been that look of overwhelmed surprised happiness on Valean’s face at the sight of them. He had kept those damn roses in the vase for days, the scent filling his small apartment.

It was two years later that Javert had been going through the bookcase looking for something. He had opened a book on herbology, and a cascade of rose petals had fallen out across the floor.

“What the hell is this?” Javert looked at him.

Valjean merely scooped up all the petals and returned them to the pages that held them. He closed the book and placed it back on the shelf. “Those are mine.”

“You old romantic.” Javert chided, but secretly he’d been pleased that Valjean had kept the petals.

“I won’t put roses on your grave.” Javert tells the still figure. How can he visit a grave instead of having Valjean come home to him at the end of the day? It’s simple. He can’t.

Valjean makes no answer, and Javert just sighs.

*  *  *

“Come on. You need some food.” Marius reminds her. “I’ll stay with him.” He looks at Javert. “Will you go with her?”

“Of course.”

They go the café and order soup. Cosette stares out the window.

“It must be strange to be back in Paris.” Javert says at last. He knows they’ve been stationed in Morocco these past few years. It’s hard to remember the young man Cosette’s married to is an ambassador with responsibilities. He’s just so _young._

“It is. At times I thought I’d never return.” Cosette sighs. “Papa didn’t approve of Marius, how political he was.” She looked down at her lap, her young face creased with memories. “He wouldn’t even come to the wedding. That’s how upset he was.”

Javert looks up and frowns. “He didn’t go the wedding because he thought he didn’t deserve to be there.”

Cosette stares at him. “What?”

Javert’s hands clench under the table. There. This is exactly why he’s not supposed to be around Cosette. It’s Valjean’s right to keep his past locked up tight if he wants to. And there Javert goes, blundering in and blurting it all out.

Cosette’s waiting for a response. What can he say to her?

But he looks into her guileless hopeful eyes, and this is Valjean’s daughter. How can he tell her anything but the truth?

“You know about his prison record.”

To her credit Cosette doesn’t flinch. “Yes. He finally told me when I was eighteen.” There’s a wry look to her eyes. Javert can imagine that conversation. “I told him it didn’t matter.”

“Well, maybe it didn’t matter to you, but it mattered to him. Valjean…he felt the past more keenly than he should have. I told him,” he swallows, “anyway, he didn’t want to ruin your new start in life.”

“That’s just ridiculous. He would have done no such thing.”

“I know that. You know that, but your father is a stubborn man.”

“You’re telling me.” Cosette mutters.

“Anyway that’s why he didn’t go to your wedding.” He doesn’t tell her that Valjean had shut him out as well during those days. That it had taken weeks to get him to speak to Javert again, to break down the walls Valjean had built up around himself once more.

“He wanted you to be happy.”

“I would have been happier if he had been there.” Cosette says honestly.

“Tell him that.”

“But,” she doesn’t say _he can’t hear me_ , like she wants to.

“Tell him anyway. Say anything you’ve ever wanted to say.”

They walk back to the hospital, and he escorts her up to the room. There though, Javert leaves her, and returns to the elevators.  In the elevator, he stands to one side, clutching the side railing for a moment until the tremor passing through his hand ceases and he straighten up once more.

He goes for a walk in the early evening, aimlessly wandering along the street as the streetlights begin to glow.

Javert walks, letting the night wash over him. _Say anything you’ve ever wanted to say_ , he thinks. He has said many things to Valjean over the years. He has told Valjean he loved him. That at least is not something he’s left unsaid. Still, there are so many unspoken conversations left to be had.

*  *  *

When Javert returns, Cosette is curled up in the chair in the waiting room, head resting against Marius’s shoulder. He has his arm around her, just holding her as she sleeps. Javert glances at them and then slips into the room.

He stands there in painful silence, and then simply goes to his knees besides the hospital bed. Javert rests his head against the mattress, closing his eyes.

“Come back.” He whispers. “Come back to me.” He doesn’t care if Valjean is at the threshold of heaven. He’s too selfish for that. He wants to keep Valjean here with him.

He wants to spend the days of his life with Valjean, wants to find him waiting at the end of the day, wants to hold him through the nights. Wants. Needs. The two bleed together until Javert’s no longer certain which is which.

He realizes now that’s what marriage meant to Valjean, a promise that he would indeed be there for those days and nights. Javert sighs, shoulders shuddering with laughter, exhaustion, weary sadness. He’s realized too late. Too late.

He doesn’t share Valjean’s faith, never has. What kind of god would take Valjean from the earth when there is still so much life ahead of him?

But now, if praying would bring Valjean back, would he do it?

Javert sends a silent prayer out to the universe, to the stars, to anything that’s listening. “Give him back.”

He doesn’t bargain. He merely asks.

If he’s left alone in this world without Valjean…The thought crushes him, and a dry sob escapes Javert’s throat.

Slowly, he pushes himself to his feet and slumps into the bedside chair. He’ll just sit here a moment, and then go home for the night.

Javert closes his eyes, his hand squeezing tight around Valjean’s. “I love you.” He whispers, and then leaves.

*  *  *

Javert goes home to his cold apartment, leans against the kitchen counter as the kettle boils. Everywhere he looks in the apartment reminds him of Valjean. It is a blessing, and a curse.

Javert takes his tea into the bedroom and sets it on the bedside table. The weight of the last week weighs upon him wearily. He feels old. Stripping down to his underwear, he sits for a second on the bed, and then, curls up, drawing the blankets up over his side.

*   *   *

Javert dreams –

Of when he first saw Valjean.

Of the first kiss.

Of another muddled, tangled memory he can’t make out, a simple happy day that blurs together and leaves him empty and wistful when he wakes. He has many memories of Valjean, yes, a chest overflowing with them.

It’s not enough.

 *  *  *

In the morning Javert wakes, and lies there in bed alone. Strange how empty it seems without Valjean. He’s grown accustomed to the warmth of the man who usually sleeps beside him, stealing the blankets.

Unbidden, a laugh rises up in his throat, at the way Valjean would always deny that it was he who stole the covers during the night.

_“You push them away!”_

_“I never!”_

Javert laughs, and then presses his palm to his chest at the sudden pain there. How can he laugh now? How can he just lie here?

Because it’s the only thing to do. He forces himself to stay there obstinately, three minutes more, until the alarm finally goes off.

Only then does he get up and shower.

His heart feels strange, lighter, but the weariness is still there. He’s tired. The sunlight makes his eyes ache when he steps out into the day. Still, there is something in the air that makes him curiously hopeful.

The elevator at the hospital takes too long.

Javert steps off it and strides down the hall. He turns the corner at the wing where Valjean’s being held, only to have his steps falter.

Cosette is standing there in the middle of the hallway, Marius’s arms wrapped around her as her shoulders shake silently. She’s crying.

Javert stares at her, and then without a word, he goes to the room.

There in the doorway he stops dead.

Valjean looks up at him, sleepily, and smiles.


End file.
